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Participants:

Cheusia catches up with and the pair get some things straightened out.

Rating:

PG-13

Logger:

Bowen

It can only be a few minutes later that Che is running out of the infirmary, having finished with Kaskan. Supplies are forgotten, though she knows Bowen is hurt. The heart is working faster than the brain, this time, otherwise she would have spent all that time making sure Bowen was okay rather than tending to the bleeding man. "BOWEN!" This cry is at the top of her lungs, not a shrill angry cry but a genuinely worried one that she doesn't care of anyone hears at this particular moment.

Considering the late hour of the night and the few people about in the bowl, there are likely only a few who actually hears her cry of his name. One of them is the man himself, of course, who was only half way to the center of the bowl before Bowen heard it and stopped. He stands there a long moment, in his slow to act way, with his back to her still. And then, confusion and irritation warring with relief and pleasure that she came after him anyway is open on the bruised planes of his face. However, the man had proper manners (even if his rude speech sometimes gets him in trouble without him meaning to) practically beaten into him by his shrew of a mother, and so he won’t stand there and wait for her to come to him. He slowly plods along like the sedate, and wounded, gelding that he is back toward her cry. It is only when she gets within speaking distance of him that he says her name in his quiet husky way, “Cheusia.” Then he looks past her to the entrance to the infirmary and then at her face under the starlit sky, or at least as much of it as he can see, and reaches for her with his good arm.

Cheusia only spots him for he's the only one who really stops. She stands there, still, moving past just the entrance but hesitating to see if he will continue forward without her. But, he's turning and coming back and she relaxes. She waits, then, not wanting to make him feel worse by her closing the distance and making him seem incapable. "Bowen… I'm sorry…" She breathes out, assuming the reason why he left was her own fault. When he reaches for her, she moves in to gingerly slip her arms around him. No questions asked, for now, if only because there are too many that come to mind.

The man is a good bit drunk, which doesn’t bode well in all reality. Bo’s been drunker before, but it’s very easy to understand that he’s not exactly working with a complete brain right now, and his judgment is flawed. Still, some of the best moves ever made have been when one lets down their inhibitions and just does what comes naturally to them, and we all know that the inhibitions-part of the brain is one of the first things to go when a person drinks. So, as he manages to clasp onto her and she slips her arms around him, he lowers his bruised face to hers, bloodied lip and all, murmurs, “M’ too,” for what he’s about to do, and crushes that mouth against hers. Not as nice a kiss as the one they’d shared earlier. Okay, it’s probably the worst kiss of his yet from the sheer desperate force of it and the taste of blood and whiskey, but he’s drunk. Unless, of course, she’s into that sort of thing. But then her arm bumps his limply dangling left one as she slips them around him and he breaks that kiss away with a string of sudden, hot curses not usually seen or heard from the quiet tanner who is usually able to suck up a lot. His eyes water, but not from the emotion of the moment, the dimwit. Damn that fucking hurt.

The why doesn't come, the why asking why he's apologizing. Two and two aren't added together when his mouth finds hers. There's only a soft whimper in response to the lips against hers, timidly pressing back but not pushing past that. She can smell the alcohol on his breath, and his lip is bleeding. Not exactly the biggest turn on, there. When he breaks away because of the bump to his arm, she lifts a hand only to wipe away whatever blood got on her before she's moving to take his arm. "What did you do…?" And then, grey eyes seek blue, questioning. "Why, Bowen?"

As she takes the arm, Bowen grunts again, but bites back the string of curses this time and is stupid enough to actually try to pull away from her touch, kneejerk reaction that it is, and that just makes the dislocated shoulder hurt worse and he staggers a moment before sinking to the ground in a heap, but at least not on his bad arm. He groans, and damn if he doesn’t look really pitiful and not the big, strapping man he is usually. Coughing a little, he manages, “Dislocated.” He’s done it before and knows what they’re like. “Ain’t gotten t’a good ‘nough post yet t’ pop it back in.” He works his way up to a sitting position, not looking at her for the rest of it, “I … had an itch.” In answer to her second question.

Cheusia watches him go down with a look, borderline sorrow and horror in one. Then, she sinks down beside him and nods. "Do you want me to do it for you…?" She asks softly, not even moving until he gives the okay… Or the no. She takes a deep breath and gives him a small look. "I… I can't stop you from fighting, Bo. But…" She shakes her head, "if you won't tell me… I guess I'll just leave it alone. Now… Can I please help you? I don't like seeing you like this."

“Depends,” Bo says softly to her first question, “Can ya do it without it hurtin’?” He looks at her after a long moment, shame written on his bruised expression, “I don’t like ya seein’ me like this, Che. Shells, if I’da known ya were on t’night, I wouldnae come.” He grumbles and in bad (or good) judgment, adds, “Said ‘is name was Kaskan … an’ I thought he said … Kason,” he sighs, not a proud moment for the tanner, so he picks up a rock with his right hand and throws it off in the darkness, “So, I … sort of slugged ‘im.”

"No. I can't really do it without it hurting… I'm sorry. If I could, I would." Che murmurs, giving him a long look, "I wasn't supposed to be on." She admits softly before falling into silence and keeping her gaze fully on the tanner. The added part is met with silence, a long silence and then, she nods once before dropping her gaze. "Thank you…" Likely not what one would expect, perhaps.

Bowen takes all that in silence for a while, his eyes blinking slowly at her expression of gratitude, having expected to be badgered to death for it. “Che,” he says, a soft rumble in his throat more than anything else, “I do j’st want ya t’be happy.” His voice trails off briefly and then nodding with a small sigh, Bowen simply grunts, muttering, “Doesn’t matter. I d’serve it anyway. Least this way there’s a beaut’ful woman touchin’ m’ instead a’j’st a hard wooden post.” Not that Bo knows much about hard wooden anythings. “Go ‘head then.” He’d hold his left arm out to her, but he can’t and it just hangs there. “And den I’m a gonna throw up.”

"You're doing a fine job of it…" She whispers. Making her happy, that is. Che shifts closer to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, or somewhere on his face that isn't injured. "I'm sorry I can't make it hurt less. I'll be here still, right after…" To comfort as needed. And then, she's scooting out of vomiting range, moving to a better angle in which she pops his shoulder back into place. Not an easy task, or a pretty one, or pleasant…

When she says what she first says in reply, Bowen squints his eyes at her, not sure she meant it sarcastically or seriously, and so considering his history of women, he will take it like the former instead of the latter. When sober and more or less in his right mind, Bowen would merely grunt and maybe get a little watery-eyed again at the shoulder being popped into place, grinding his teeth against any shouted expression of pain. That’s just the way the stocky man rolls. However, having been in his cups we’ve already seen how he handles such sharp, acute pain. And as she pops it back into place, Bowen hisses and growls out another string of curses that would make a seacrafter blush. But he doesn’t cry out or yell. Instead he turns away from Che slightly and rolls onto his side doing a rather embarrassing dry heave since he hadn’t had any food on his stomach and the whiskey was already absorbed into his system. So, afterward, he just rolls on his back, his hat rolling off and sitting upside down as he stares up at the starlight sky, “She had lovers.” Plural. More than one. He doesn’t clarify who he means, hoping Che will get it. “I ‘voided her an’ …” he scrubs his right hand down over his face, “she went lookin’ fer comp’ny …” not entirely unlike, in his mind, what Che was doing today with the strange note. “Which is why … I suggested y’don’t give up on ‘im, Che,” despite the fact that he apparently wants to punch the man for leaving her feeling so lonely. He’s really, inwardly, wanting to punch himself. Since he can’t do that, he’ll punch Kason. Maybe. One day. For now punching Kaskan helped him to feel a little better. Well, short of all the bruising and tenderness and dislocated shoulder.

Cheusia winces at the sound he makes in his pain, taking a slow breath as she moves to gently rub his side, to comfort and ease. She murmurs soft comforting words, attempting to ease the pain with the words alone instead of leaving him alone to go get something. When he rolls onto his back, her hand moves to gingerly rub his chest. "Oh…" Silence picks up again and she lingers in it for a long while before speaking again. Grey eyes flickering skywards and avoiding to meet his gaze. "You didn't go months without seeing her, I imagine…" She whispers. "He's not coming back… It'll be four months, soon… No letters… Nothing. Even when I'm at Landing, I never see him."

Even on the rare occasions Bowen was sick or hurt when he was married or even as a kid, he’d never really experienced comforting like this. Woman or man. He was just expected to suck it up and be brave. Endure. On occasion, he wasn’t even allowed to convalesce to complete health before he was nagged back out to his duty. Something gives way in his chest as she rubs his side and chest and offers comforting words and murmurs and Bo closes his eyes, using both hands to try and drag her down against his side, though to be sure he’s still tender in the left arm, so it’s not roughly done. ”M’sorry …” he rumbles deeply, softly, “I j’st … I didn’t want t’be …” in the way of her happiness with another man? Or like one of Darla’s lovers? He sighs softly, muttering, “He’s a fool, if’n ya don’t mind m’sayin’.” And if she came down to lie at his side, in the dirt, and stare up at the sky with him, perhaps, he’ll try stroking her arm tenderly.

Cheusia is pulled into him, down into his side and she settles there beside him, on the ground and without a real care in the world. Or, at least not caring that she's on the dirt. "No… It's not your fault. I understand. Completely." Her hand that is not closest to him shifts to rest on his chest, gently stroking. "I don't mind you saying… You can say whatever you want. I'm sorry I didn't understand before… Didn't understand why you felt this way. I'm sorry I pushed." Grey eyes consider the sky before her head tilts to consider him. "You're a wonderful man.."

Bowen is silent for a long time, his eyes closed, appearing to simply enjoy holding her as he veeery slowly starts to sober up. There’s a bit of irritation as she apologizes to him, a couple of times, as it smacks so much of all the apologizing and bowing and scraping he’s had to do to his mother and wife before he realized that if he just waited and came home when they were already in bed, or close to it, he could escape most of the nagging. It ended up backfiring, in a big way, but he’s seeing how maybe life has given him a second chance and he’s scared but not backing down. “Hey,” he offers huskily, “Y’didn’t know.” He starts to tell her ‘don’t do that’ and then thinks better of it and instead phrases it like, “Y’ain’t gotta ‘pologize fer dat,” softly, soothingly. He lifts the hand from her arm to stroke her cheek gently, “Thank ya fer thinkin’ me wonderful. I don’t reckon how, but I don’t wanna getchya mad at me ‘gain, so …” his voice trails off briefly and he takes a deep breath, his chest moving with the task and the exhale, “ Seein’s how ‘e left ya fer months without word … if’n ya let me try, Che, I’d like th’ chance t’try and make ya … happy.” He’d kiss her again actually, but some part of him realizes that between the bile stuck in the back of his throat from the dry heave, the whiskey breath, and the drying blood on his lip, that’s probably not a good idea.

She'd apologize a lot more, too, for not realizing. And then just for understanding what he went through, even though none of that was really her fault. "Alright… I won't." Apologize anymore. Che closes her eyes as he strokes her cheek, tilting her head into his hand just a little more. "I'll get mad at you about something else, eventually… Just how we work. Love Max like a brother, doesn't mean he doesn't make me mad…" She offers softly. Trailing off, she shifts as he speaks, pushing herself up to get a better look at the man and considering his words. Che smiles, leaning in to place a gentle kiss upon his nose, being that kissing on the lips is none too pleasant at the moment. "I'd like that… I'll let you make me happy." Note, there's no try in there. Mostly for the fact that she believes in him, or, one would hope.

Bowen doesn’t nod or immediately acknowledge her first or even second statement, except to grunt a little about getting mad at Max. He bites back the automatic brothers-united defense of, ‘aww he ain’t so bad’ because this is actually turning into a good moment for Bo and he doesn’t want to ruin it. After a long while, he does say, “I’ll try ‘n not make ya mad, but I reckon I ain’t gonna always b’ good fer it.” Sort of conceding the point. He opens his eyes as he feels her lips to his nose, which miraculously managed to stay unbroken in the fight, or even bloodied. Those blue eyes seek her grey ones as she smiles and he smiles slowly back before stretching out a little more on the ground, not entirely unused to it being a hunter and survivalist as he is, “I’ll start by teachin’ ya how t’ride.” He means runners, of course, not even thinking it worthy to clarify. His hand slides from her face to the small of her back as she sits up more against him, and strokes there softly. “I reckon I should be helpin’ y’up off th’ ground,” when in reality, he probably needs more help than she does.

"I'm not expecting perfection." She admits, smiling wider as she looks down at him. Contentment is likely the first thing that can be seen on her face, despite the fact that, well… He's still beaten up. Something she might have to get used to. Grey eyes search blue ones for a moment before she gingerly strokes his cheek. "I'd like that a lot. But, we'll wait until you're well rested and healed." Laughter follows and she shakes her head. "No, you don't need to help me up. We can stay here, or we can head to your cot or get you one in the infirmary."

Truth be told, Bo’s seen his fair share of fights over the years, but he usually goes a lot longer between them than he has lately. Perhaps it’s the weyr and the fact that it’s still starting out and getting settled and there’s bound to be people bumping heads, including him. Though in all fairness, the first time he met Che, it really wasn’t his fault. He closes his eyes again to her hand on his cheek and manages a slight smirk to her laughter, liking the sound of it, wanting to make it happen more often. He strokes the small of her back again, and adds, “Th’ stars’re nice,” though his eyes are closed when he says it. “I’d off’r m’cot or take y’up on the ‘firmary one, but there ain’t much privacy t’neither. Not that …” he opens both eyes then, “Not that, y’know, I’m gonna be taken no ‘dvantage an’ all.” Pause. “Not yet anyway.” Because he’s been married before and knows there’s more than one way to satisfy a woman. He’s just never really had the desire before now. “I got stabbed, yanno,” he says in explanation, “Right there, in m’thigh.” Despite it was a good seven or two ago now, “An’ then, this she-man of a durn barmaid disl’cated m’shoulder. This ‘un. Right here.” Not exactly how it happened. He’s just warming up, “Course, that was all aft’r I got a chair swung at me, an’ nearly choked t’death and nearly had m’neck broke, and got punched in th’ face… .” His eyes slide closed again, “If I’m lucky, I might b’able t’kiss ya ‘gain sometime dis turn.” Despite his words, his hand continues to stroke gently, tenderly along her back.

Cheusia continues to stroke his cheek in a soothing manner, smiling as his eyes close and he seems to relax. "They are. Very nice… Never really too much time to look at them before." She's usually working. "Well, I don't plan on taking advantage of you, but I do hope that I can get you to get off to sleep so you can rest and feel better. I'll get some numbweed, too…" She trails off to listen to his story, chuckling softly as she shifts her hand from his cheek to rest on his chest and gently rub. "Poor dear… You'll be able to kiss me in a sevenday or two… If you behave and don't get punched in the face again. I'll clean you up and take care of you…" See? She's not always the mean healer. She has that soft side of her, after all.

There is still a little voice in his head that is telling him this is too good to be true. Who ever heard of a tender, compassionate, unnagging (mostly), caretaker woman? But he’s enjoying himself without any drinking or punching or card playing involved and it’s been awhile since he could say that, and he’s in pain, still, so he’s just going to milk it a little longer for now. He squashes the voice for the moment. “We’ll lookit ‘em ‘gain, too. Soon,” he murmurs, giving her a little squeeze at that small of her back where he has his hand. “Well, I reckon then I best get th’ sevenday rollin’ sooner than later.” Because it will allow him to kiss her that much sooner. As he sits up, grunting a little from discomfort but nothing more, Bo leans in to kiss the side of her head, about her hairline, murmuring, “Thank you … Che,” drawing out and enunciating the ‘you’. And then he waits for her to get situated on her feet before he climbs up on his own, since, well, he might really be needing her help. He didn’t quite mention why he was shuffling in that explanation of his injuries, but yeah, he’s still a little tender in the groin, too.

Oh, there's still nagging. About the important things, so it doesn't always seem like nagging… One would hope. The smile on her lips grows a little wider and she nods, "soon." She agrees before laughing. "You should get it started soon, yes. And that means no heavy working or getting into fights." Eyes close briefly at the kiss upon her head, "you're welcome, Bo…" Che slowly pushes to her feet, then gives him a curious little look before offering her hands out, if he wants to take the help.

Some nagging, the good kind of nagging, Bo just needs to get over and get used to. It’s all about compromises on both sides. The no heavy working or fights sounds like she will be checking in on him often, which likely means he won’t be able to take that little trip down to Landing he was thinking about and looking in on that Kason guy, seeing if perhaps he got himself dead or something. The darker side of Bo, who is no stranger to death as a matter of survival on Pern, kinda hopes so. The other side of Bo, not so much. But that’s moot now since he won’t be able to slip away in the next couple of days without her knowing, likely. So, he will save it for another time. Picking up his hat and putting it back on his head, he tips it and smiles slightly up at her with her orders for no heavy working or fights. He considers her hand and considers how it smarted just to sit up, and so with a shift of his eyes to the darkness around them, seeing who may be around to see the stocky tanner takes her offered hand, grunting again as he hauls himself to his feet with her help and shakes out one of his legs less than discreetly. “Where’re we goin’ then, J’rneywoman? M’cot, or,” he eyes the infirmary entrance, “Yers?”

Compromise can be done without much struggle, being that Che's a compromising woman… After all, if she wasn't he wouldn't have gone and helped Max that night. The smirk earns a cheerful smile, taking it to mean that he is going to keep out of the fights until he's better. When her hand is taken, she helps him up and then moves to slip an arm around him if he doesn't pull away. "Mine. Closer, and, we can get some of that whiskey for you and your friend. I figure he's missing you.. I wasn't too gentle with his foot." There's a pause, "I won't leave you alone in there, either." She'll just claim being worried he'd run away if she left… And that's totally why she needed to sleep in a cot near by his. Totally.

Bowen doesn’t seem to protest the arm around him, though he works his own arm around her shoulder unless she slips out from it; this way it looks like she’s his girl and he’s just walking, okay limping, her back to work. Or something. “Yes, ma’a—Che,” he says, smiling a little crookedly, “Though I think I had ‘nough t’drink fer th’ night. I’ll j’st have some fer bre’kf’st.” Beat pause. “Kaskan might be needin’ some tho’.” He nods a little, starting to move with her to the infirmary entrance, murmuring, “Max said sumpthin’ ‘bout candy?”

Cheusia does not slip from his arm, content to walk with him like that, both of them with an arm around the other. "Mm. Probably, being that you did get into a fight." She teases, "breakfast, then. We'll get it for Kaskan, then." Though, its likely the man already found it. Though, she'll not be angry about that… too much. As they begin to walk, she tightens her arm just a bit. "Oh, right. You want some of the candy, then? He's such a child, I swear…"

As slow as he is, typically, made slower for his condition, Bo and Che are practically inside the infirmary before he speaks, "Was defendin' m'lady's honor," he murmurs in mild defense, "Sort of. Ain't m'fault he wasn't th'right feller." He waits for her to lead him to whatever cot she wants to put him in. "Maybe j'st one piece," he comments, of the candy, "I might throw it up." Then he nods a bit, "A child who can take a man down better'n me, when he needs takin' down. He's a good man, Max, brought me here when I got stabbed." Pause. "Right there. In my thigh. Needin' stitchin' twice. But th' stitcher is a looker, thank Faranth." His words slur a bit toward the end and he stifles a yawn. Been a long day for the tanner. He kissed a woman, more than once. And got into a bar fight.

Cheusia laughs at that, unrestrained. "My honor has been defended." She teases, moving to settle him into the nearest free cot. "Mm. I'll get you something you can suck on. Don't chew it down, that way you won't puke it up." She'll help him into the cot and get him all tucked in before she's fetching said candy. "He's a great man." She agrees before her laughter continues. "I'll give you the candy when you wake up. You're tired and you need your sleep." A kiss is placed gingerly upon his forehead and she pulls up a chair to settle in beside his cot.

Bowen manages, barely, to bite back any comments about him sucking on candy, facetious or otherwise. He just nods as she gets him into the cot, resting his hat on his chest, and then closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them and looking at her in that chair, almost as if he was checking to see if she was there, “I’ll do’t right this time,” he murmurs, either for her benefit or his own or maybe both, and the closes his eyes, sinking a little more into the cot and pillow before finally dozing off.

Lets just hope that Max never tells Bowen about their codenames. Or, really, their meanings. A while new meaning for candy right there. She is still there when he opens his eyes, watching him carefully. In the morning, she'll likely be there still, sleeping or awake. Because shortly after he drifts to sleep, she follows. It's been one crazy day.